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Teach him the song that no one living knows? Let the man die, with that half-chant of his,-What Now discovers not Hereafter shows,
And God will surely teach him more than this.
Again the Bird. I turned, and passed along;
But Time and Death, Eternity and Change, Talked with me ever, and the climbing song Rose in my hearing, beautiful and strange.
Till the poor little head was heavy,
E had played for his lordship's levee,
And the face grew peaked and eerie,
And the large eyes strange and bright, And they said-too late-" He is weary! He shall rest for, at least, To-night!"
But at dawn, when the birds were waking,
'Twas a string of his violoncello,
And they heard him stir in his bed: "Make room for a tired little fellow,
Kind God!" was the last that he said.
OW steadfastly she'd worked at it!
How longingly she'd hung on it !—
He came at last, the tiny guest,
That rosy nest he never prest....
"The dead hand clasped a letter."
HERE, in this leafy place,
Quiet he lies,
Cold, with his sightless face
'Tis but another dead; All you can say is said.
Carry his body hence,—
Kings must have slaves;
Over men's graves:
What was the white you touched,
Paper his hand had clutched
Tight ere he died ;— Message or wish, may be ;— Smooth the folds out and see.
Hardly the worst of us
Here could have smiled!
Only the tremulous
Words of a child ;
Prattle, that has for stops
Look. She is sad to miss,
Ah, if beside the dead
Slumbered the pain ! Ah, if the hearts that bled Slept with the slain !
If the grief died ;—But no ;-